


Full Moon

by koalaboy



Category: A New Brain - Finn/Lapine
Genre: Fantasy AU, Gen, M/M, dumb rubbish au, vampire/werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 12:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13998576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaboy/pseuds/koalaboy
Summary: Roger is a werewolf. Gordon is a vampire. It's the full moon. Need I say more?





	Full Moon

Roger hums to himself as he shaves, gliding the razor over his warm, prickly skin. The steam from the hot water fogs up the mirror and he grumbles, wiping it away with his hand every so often so he could see.

Gordon yawns, opening his yellow eyes and peering at Roger in their ensuite from the safety of their warm bed. 4:30pm - their usual wake up time for days like this. Gordon clumsily gets out of bed, the few slivers of sunlight that manage to bleed through the bedroom curtains causing him discomfort as he walks to the bathroom. Mirrors no longer used silver as a reflective surface. With the new addition of aluminium, it meant Gordon could finally see his reflection again. It still unsettled him and he jumps as he catches his foggy reflection in the mirror. It makes Roger laugh. Gordon pouts despite finding it amusing himself. He didn't like being laughed at.

Gordon wraps his arms around Roger and buries his face in to him to take in his scent - far more musky than usual.

"Good evening, puppy," he mumbles in to his loose tank top.

Roger smiles and wipes his face clean of shaving cream before he leans in for a kiss.

"Big night tonight," Roger mutters. He could feel the ache in his bones, the lengthening of his teeth, his nails becoming more coarse.

"At least it's only one night per month," Gordon says. He takes Roger's hand, which was beginning to twist itself in to an off shape, and gently massages his joints.

Roger groans in relief as ligaments and bones pop back in to their human position, the pain fading away.

Being a werewolf was nothing like the movies. It was genetic: passed down from his mother and father to him. The night of his bar mitzvah was his first true transition and it was _agony_. Werewolves were a dangerous balancing act between human and animal and the closer it became to the full moon, the more their animalistic side showed. Transformations at  will weren't that painful and they retained their usual human mind, albeit with a few added 'wolf sense' bonuses. Roger dreaded the full moon - binding himself in silver in some remote cave wasn't his idea of a good night out. Worst of all was the pain; the days beforehand of puberty-like growing pains as his body struggled to decide whether it was human or not. Finally, when the moon appears, joints realign, muscles reprogram themselves, bones break and reform, even his jaw dislocates itself to allow bigger teeth to sprout. And worse? Gordon, the only other person he knew strong enough to contain him if something were to go wrong, had to watch it all.

"Don't look so sad, puppy," Gordon says, "It'll be over soon."

Roger forces a smile in the hopes it might help him feel better. It does to some extent. "You should watch calling me that. We have chains and a collar and no dog. People might think we have a kink."

Gordon laughs. Stroking Roger's newly shaven cheeks, "I've lived for over a hundred years, I can't believe you're kinkshaming me."

Roger leans in to the cold touch, "I can do whatever I want, I'm in a Phase. What do you do when I'm all 'grrr' anyway?"

Gordon sighs and drops his arms to his sides, inspecting his fangs in the mirror, "Eat a few squirrels, mostly."

Roger chuckles, "Aw, baby, save a few for me."

Gordon squints at him, and dives in to the drawer of their bathroom cupboard. He pulls out foundation and starts to dab it on his wrist, covering the concentration camp tattoo - it wasn't apart of him anymore and if anyone happened to see it, they'd think him an asshole. He dresses himself in a hoodie and jeans (not for warmth, just to keep the last few rays of sun from touching him). Roger wears the most loose fitting clothes possible. They'd be torn to shreds by the morning, but it was way more comfortable than turning in skinny jeans. He'd learnt this from experience. When he was in his twenties he would sail himself out in to the middle of nowhere, pull down his sails, drop his anchor, and ride out the transformation on his own make-shift island prison. Now, though, he had someone to bring him painkillers and clothes at dawn, which was far more convenient.

They drive for a good hour to their usual forest and walk together to the thickest part of the woods. It was unnaturally spooky and humans tended to stay away. The cave was well equipped with cages and shackles, perfect for any packs of wolves travelling through the area. Gordon chains Roger to the walls of the cave, the tiniest bit of nervousness making his hands tremor. The chains click together as Roger tests their strength. It was eerie in the dark cave.

"I'll be fine, my love," Roger says, taking Gordon's hands and squeezing them, "Come to check on me every two hours like always."

Gordon nods and kisses him deeply. He then covers his face in light, fleeting kisses, "I love you."

Roger allows himself to revel in the kiss for a moment. He sinks back against the wall of the cave, his spine aching. It had started to protrude. He grunts in pain, his lips curling in to an inhuman snarl.

"Agh-! I-I love you, too..." he stammers. He rests his head in his hands.

Gordon steps back until he was far away enough that Roger couldn't reach him. He clenches his hands in to anxious fists by his side. He couldn't look away as much as he wished he could.

At first Roger's body jerks like electricity is running through him, then the bones of his fingers pop and crack, nails curling themselves in to claws. Roger cries out in pain as his arm twists out of its socket, making an awful crack. Gordon flinches and looks away, ignoring Roger's screams that grew more hoarse until they were guttural growls. His spine elongates, hair sprouts. 

"I'm here. Breathe," Gordon says.

He visibly takes in ragged breaths. Or what was a cruel imitation of Roger.

He can see the expression of agony on the other's face even as it contorts itself in to something inhuman - something other than Roger. That was the worst part. Once a week he lost his boyfriend to what was trapped inside him. Gordon doesn't dare look back incase he took it as a threat; instead he busies himself with feeding. Animal blood was not the ideal food, but it had to do since you couldn't go around and readily steal from blood banks anymore. He avoids the more human-friendly parts of the forest should the feeding get him in to a frenzy.

* * *

Gordon visits Roger every two hours or so and is greeted with a low growl. As time passes and sunrise grows near, Gordon puts on his gloves and tucks the sleeves of his hoodie in to them. He tucks a scarf around his neck and in to the hoodie and then pulls the hood over his head. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

"Roger?" He calls as he tiptoes in to the cave opening.

"Mm?" Comes a reply.

Gordon smiles softly as he approaches his boyfriend; dirty and tattered, a few of his joints still dislocated, but human enough.

He kneels down beside him, gently running his fingers through his messy hair, "You did really well, sweetheart. You were incredible. You did so, so well."

Roger closes his eyes and moves his limbs so the last few bones snap back in to place.

"Mmph, how was your night?" He murmurs.

"The usual," Gordon says with a shrug.

He helps Roger stand and unhooks him from the chains, brushing away any dirt.

"Feel better after getting all that out?"

Roger nods, "Tired, though. Hungry."

He takes some of the clothes that Gordon had brought from the car and they slowly make their way back; avoiding as many sunny patches as possible.

* * *

When they finally get home Roger flops himself down on to the bed, his face smushed up against the pillows.

Gordon laughs fondly at his dramatics, "You're so tired you didn't even touch the mezuzah when we came in."

Roger flails an arm in the general direction of the front door and grunts. That was good enough for him right now.

He sits beside his very over-the-top boyfriend, "How about I make you a smoothie and then I'll rub your back?"

Roger nods. It took a great deal of calories and protein powder to keep Roger's high metabolism rate under control, especially around the full moon.

Eventually Roger is settled enough to have his arms around Gordon and rest his head on his shoulder. He brushes his thumb over the other's upper arm absently and half-heartedly follows along as Gordon reads from Dracula and remarks about how inaccurate it all is.

"Thank you for staying with me as I turned. It's still... scary... even after all these years."

Gordon pecks Roger's chin - which was already rough with stubble despite him shaving less than twenty four hours ago. "It's what boyfriends do."

Roger drifts off to sleep as Gordon starts on his third long tangent of the day - the complexity of homoeroticism in vampire fiction.


End file.
